


Unconscious Behavior

by Riadasti



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, First Kiss, Male-Female Friendship, Older Man/Younger Woman, These two are clueless about each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2020-10-10 12:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20527691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riadasti/pseuds/Riadasti
Summary: A collection of one-shots and short series about the best couple that never happened on The Flash. Usage of alternate universe and canon-divergence.





	1. A Favor Between Friends - One-shot

**Author's Note:**

> Lately, my creativity has been drained by an increasingly stressful job, so it's more than likely that I'll try to post more of these smaller works in an attempt at regaining some energy to write on my bigger projects. 
> 
> That being said, I've also been catching up on The Flash lately (I'm back in Season 2, so no spoilers!) and Caitlin and Earth-2 Wells has definitely been my favorite pairing in the fandoms. I thought I'd give it a try and see what you think. 
> 
> Thanks for tagging along! If I am inspired, this may turn into a series. We'll see. :)

“So…do you think you can help me out? It’s a big favor. I know I'm asking a lot—”

“I already said yes, Snow.” Harrison breaks into her stream of profuse apologies, and she pauses mid-sentence to stare at him.

“Oh,” is all she can manage in reply. “So I’ll pick you up at 7:30?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “You know where to find me.”

Caitlin says more, probably apologizes a few times, but she’s in too much of a haze to accurately recall what nonsense managed to slip through.

She walks herself through the concrete passageways of STAR labs, into the elevator, and (once the doors safely close) promptly stands with her face against the far wall of the mirror-like glass. For added effect, she bounces her forehead against the cool surface a few times while the elevator ascends silently.

What on _earth_ was she thinking asking Harrison to be her chaperone on this blind date? It’s not as if he would be present _on_ the date, but she wanted someone to come with her to the meeting place to make sure she hadn’t been set up with a serial killer or crazed meta-human. She was dealing with Earth-2 Wells and not the original, but it didn’t matter. She knew this man inside and out, perhaps more than she had known his original counterpart (definitely more, since he wasn’t even Wells—but she pushed this painful reminder aside). Earth-2 Wells was either laughing quietly to himself at her foolishness or cringing internally at having to complete this favor for her. How could she be so—

“Uh, Caitlin?”

She turns around in a flash and fixes Barry—the _literal _Flash—with her usual wide-eyed stare.

“I’m fine!” she says, darting past him into the lobby. “I’ll see you later!” She shouts this last statement over her shoulder before practically running out the front doors.

He says something after her, but she doesn’t pay any attention. She has to go home immediately and stress about which outfit she’s going to wear. Halfway home, she realizes she’s missed her turn and has to retrace her steps.

“Get it together, Caitlin,” she shouts at herself in the rear-view mirror.

What is bothering her so much—that she’s about to go on a blind date, or that Harrison will be there? She decides that cool, calm, and collected Caitlin Snow has finally lost her marbles.

One she’s safely indoors, she runs straight to her closet and begins tearing it apart. She wants something classy, but not too sedate. Something provocative, but not too slutty. She has to walk the fine line on this one. But instead of finding herself wondering what ‘Jake the Accountant’ (her blind date) might like, she is trying to figure out whether Harrison would prefer a dark blue dress or a black skirt and top.

She’s tempted to yell at herself again, but she pulls it together and decides on a more casual look than she’s used to—a graphic tee with a leather jacket and black skinny jeans.

Caitlin’s phone chimes, reminding her that she has 10 minutes to rush back to STAR labs and pick up Harrison. She quickly reapplies her lip-gloss and touches up her mascara before darting out the door.

She’s back at the lab again and notes that she is three minutes late. Harrison is waiting on the curb, staring down at something in his hand (not a smart phone—he’s not that basic).

Caitlin pulls up to the curb, rolls down the window and _actually says, _“Come here often?” She could smack herself in the forehead for that stupid line.

Harrison looks up and laughs. Her heart does a funny flip-flop motion at the sound of it. His laugh is a rare occurrence, and she was able to accomplish something momentous with her stupid pick-up-line.

She watches him get into the passenger seat and waits to catch his gaze before saying, “Thanks again, Harrison.”

He gives her an odd little half-smile. “Anytime, Snow.” He glances down at her outfit. “I guess you got the memo?” He points to himself, and she notices with a start that she inadvertently copied his style—graphic tee under a leather jacket and black skinny jeans.

“Well that was—totally unintentional.” She is flustered and puts the car into gear to avoid having to look at him.

She’s grateful that the sun has already set and the interior car lights have dimmed, otherwise he’d see the blush suffusing her cheeks. She clears her throat and tries to change the subject.

“So what are you tinkering with over there?” Caitlin glances at the small, rectangular device clutched in Harrison’s left hand.

“It senses a person’s hidden inhibitions and notes any negative thought patterns or desires. Thought it might be helpful tonight on your blind date.”

Caitlin stutters in reply, until she catches a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Snow, I’m joking.” At her dry, unconvincing laugh, he grows pensive and says, “Am I really such a stick in the mud?”

“Well,” in her usual fashion she does her best to hedge the question. “You _have_ been a little distracted lately. Which is totally understandable. But sometimes you can be a little…harsh.”

He snorts. “Is that Caitlin Snow’s nice way of calling me an asshole?”

She purses her lips to hide a smile. “It might be.”

He sighs. “This is actually something Cisco requested for a new weapon, something that would mimic Turtle’s powers and slow down a speedster.”

He leaves the statement at that, and she nods her head. The car grows silent except for the delicate sound of metal on metal as he adjusts a few screws with a miniature Phillips head.

“So why are you going on this blind date, anyway?” His question takes her completely off-guard, and she almost misses a stop sign.

“Sorry,” she apologizes under her breath when he drops his screwdriver. “I think I just wanted to put myself out there again, you know? After Ronnie and Jay…I feel like it’s time to try something new.”

He grunts in reply. She can feel him studying her from the corner of her eye.

“But you don’t need someone setting you up. You’re talented and attractive enough to find someone by yourself.”

Caitlin glances down and realizes she’s going almost 90 miles an hour on the highway. She gradually slows to a more acceptable speed and uses this as an excuse not to respond to his latest statement. She has no idea what to make of it.

She clears her throat. “Should we listen to some music?”

Harrison only nods in reply. He can no longer tinker with the small device as the streetlights of the city are long gone.

Caitlin quickly switches on the radio and is thankful for the excuse not to speak for a little while. It scans through a few local commercials and picks up again with a top 40 hit song. She’s too busy tapping her fingers along to the beat to realize Harrison is humming beside her. She listens intently around the throbbing beat of the song and can faintly hear his deep voice following along with the lyrics.

“‘I’m a rebel just for kicks, now. I’ve been feeling it since 1966, now…’”

Caitlin can’t stifle the laugh that bubbles up in her throat. Harrison looks sharply towards her.

“What?” He says.

She wonders if she can note a touch of embarrassment in his defensive tone.

“I didn’t know you listened to top 40 Pop hits,” she says with another laugh.

“Hey, this song is catchy. And I find this kind of inane music relaxing when I’m working on a project.”

Caitlin meets his gaze and smiles at him. “I have to admit, I never would have guessed it.”

Through the gloom, she can see just a glint of blue eyes behind his spectacles. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Snow.”

“Obviously,” she replies, again finding herself baffled at the casual atmosphere between them.

He seems more relaxed this evening, and it’s been quite a while since either of them have talked about anything besides meta-humans or Zoom. She smiles to herself, unable to admit that this is exactly what she hoped would happen tonight.

“Let me guess,” he says with a mocking, overly pensive expression. “You listen to country music?”

“Absolutely not!” She counters immediately.

“Rap?”

“Not even close.”

“SKA?”

“I don’t even know what that is.”

“Okay, I give up.”

She smiles, secretly grateful for a chance to stump Harrison Wells. “Yeah, I don’t think you’ll guess it. I’m a huge fan of folk and independent stuff, but my go-to genre is the 70s. The good stuff.”

He’s clearly shocked. “Such as?”

“Oh, I guess some of my favorites are Steve Miller Band, Chicago, The Guess Who, The Who…you know, the list just goes on and on.”

“Joni Mitchell?” He says softly.

“Her early stuff is absolutely breathtaking.”

He’s staring at her more intently than usual. “Interesting.”

She glances at him, but she doesn’t have time to explore that train of thought as she pulls into the restaurant parking lot. She glances around and wonders what kind of car Jake the Accountant would drive.

“He wanted to meet here? This little dive bar and music joint?” Harrison stares at the blinking neon sign with barely concealed disdain.

“Well, it’s closer to him, and he’s a fan of their wings, so…” She trails off, peering at a familiar figure in the far corner of the lot.

“So he asked you to drive the furthest? He didn’t offer to pick you up?”

Caitlin meets his gaze and says, with an exasperated one, “Dating is different these days. It’s the digital age, or something. Chivalry is dead.” She peers out the window again and confirms her suspicions before Harrison has a chance to reply.

“There he is.” She grips the steering wheel and leans forward to get a better look at him.

“_That’s_ your date?” Harrison glares at the over-sized truck with comically large wheels and the bright yellow stripes running down garish, red paint.

“That’s Jake the accountant.” Her disappointment is almost palpable.

Jake had seemed so promising online in their short interaction—and they had a few things in common, but the fossil-fuel burning monstrosity was an embarrassment to society and nature.

“So…what’s the plan, Snow?”

Before she can decide, it appears that Jake has caught sight of her. He’s peering through the gloomy parking lot and looks like he’s about to approach her car.

“Oh, God. He’s coming this way. I don’t want to—” She turns to Harrison, but he suddenly takes her face in his hands and leans so close that his breath merges with hers.

“Just pretend we came here together.”

“O-okay,” she stutters, taking this opportunity to study his eyes more intently at this close proximity.

He’s doing the same for a brief second before his gaze drifts over her shoulder.

“Damn,” he says. “He’s headed this way.”

Caitlin doesn’t know what comes over her. She’s unsure who initiates it—and she doesn’t really care—because Harrison is kissing her.

At first it’s as if they are frozen, with his lips covering hers and not moving a millimeter. But the moment his thumb brushes her cheek—just the slightest, tiniest motion against her skin—she presses into him and kisses him with genuine fervor. It takes her a few breathless moments to realize he’s doing the same. Her arms have snaked themselves around his neck, and her fingers have moved up the nape of his neck to toy with the mess of hair on top of his head. His hands remain pressed against the sides of her face, but he explores the taste of her lips with a passion she was not expecting.

They are lost in this activity for a few minutes (maybe longer) until he suddenly breaks away. Their ears are filled with the roar of an incredibly loud engine and an even louder squeal of tires.

“Looks like your date got the message.”

Caitlin can only hum in reply, enjoying this moment with Harrison’s hands still cupping either side of her face. He gazes at her for a moment, a funny little smile tugging at the corner of his lips—and then the spell is broken. Suddenly he’s pulled away and is staring down at the odd device he brought along with him.

Caitlin clears her throat and returns her hands to the steering wheel—she’s afraid if she doesn’t grip it, she’ll want to grab his coat collar and pull him in for round two.

“Well,” she says after a pregnant pause, “Thanks for coming with me tonight.”

“Anytime, Snow.”

“So…same time next week?” She turns to him with a mischievous smile.

“Absolutely,” he says, and his tone is so serious and no-nonsense that she can only blink at him in reply.

It’s almost as if…he’s saying yes. That there will be a repeat performance.


	2. On the Merits of the Avocado - 1 of 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You, Harrison Wells, are more lovable than you know.”
> 
> -Alternate Universe, where Harrison Wells is an old family friend. Part 1 of 4

Caitlin navigates the small cart through the produce aisle and turns to her companion. “Do you want guacamole?”

“The general public’s obsession with the avocado is entirely lost on me,” Harrison responds in a lackluster tone.

“I didn’t ask what you thought of _the avocado_. I asked if you wanted _guac_.”

He grows quiet before he says, “Yes, I want guacamole.”

“That’s what I thought,” she says smugly, testing a few avocados before placing them in the cart.

“Do we have to have this party, anyway?” Harrison’s tone is fraught with distaste.

She pinches her lips together—a habit she’d unintentionally picked up from him—and refuses to answer. Despite her best efforts, her thoughts venture into stormy territory when she realizes just how little he is looking forward to tonight’s festivities.

Harrison Wells has been a family friend for many years, working side by side with her father as his young protégée. When his marriage began to fall apart, he spent nearly every holiday in the Snow household because Caitlin’s father couldn’t stand for Wells to spend any of it alone. He can be prickly at times, and he certainly wasn’t his best during the years of his messy divorce, but the Snows seem to bring out the best in him.

And now he has the audacity to look down on her mother’s going away party? Caitlin grips the shopping cart handle and pushes her thoughts decidedly further from the main source of her frustration. She glances at his dour expression and is on the verge of giving this infuriating man a piece of her mind.

But instead, in true Caitlin Snow fashion, she says nothing and careens around the apple display with such force that the cart tips onto two wheels for a brief second.

“Caitlin, don’t we need tortillas?”

She says nothing to this sensible piece of advice and makes a sharp 180 turn, nearly colliding with an older couple. She mutters an apology and is off again towards the international food aisle. With some ingenuity, and the perfect coincidence of a small collection of children fighting over the car shaped shopping cart, she manages to distance herself from him for a few minutes.

Harrison stops her unexpectedly around the next end cap. “Would you slow down for just a second?”

“We’re doing this for you,” she says with unexpected heat.

He sighs and says, “I know.”

She opens her mouth to speak, but a sour-faced man behind them makes a rude and pointed comment about and how it is inconsiderate to have a “lover’s tiff” in public.

Caitlin’s face suffuses with blushes as Harrison takes control of the cart. He has to redirect her a few times when she ignores items on the list, but her mind is swirling with thoughts she can no longer push aside.

When was it, exactly, that she fell in love with Harrison Wells? It took her years to finally admit it to herself. She knew the way she paraded around with her high school boyfriend and two different college beaus were a naive and immature attempt at attracting his attention. But these drew nothing from him but barely disguised disapproval. It was all her silly attempt at forcing him to view her as more than just his friend’s daughter. It was foolish, and she knew it.

_I’m still that same fool,_ she thinks to herself.

She snaps back to reality when she finds herself standing in line at the register, and Harrison’s keen eyes are studying her face. She gives her patented “everything’s fine, I don’t want to talk about it” smile and pulls out her wallet. After another brief argument in which Caitlin flat out refuses to let Harrison pay for anything (she wins), and they finally make their way to the car with an impressively full cart.

“You’re angry,” he says in his characteristic matter-of-fact manner.

Caitlin takes a deep breath. She could lie and say everything is fine, as she always does, but he can always see through her pitiful attempts at avoiding confrontation.

“You’re right,” she concedes. “But I think I’m more sad than angry.” She fiddles with the car keys in her lap, unable just yet to meet his gaze or start the car. “You don’t have to be so ungrateful towards this party. Is it so crazy to want to show you how much we love you and will miss you?”

“I’m not used to being loved, Caitlin.”

She snorts in response, and her barely concealed derision seems to baffle him.

“Is there something else troubling you, aside from what I said about the party?”

“Yes, but—” she meets his stare and then swiftly drops it. Instead, she says nothing and starts the car. “I’m not ready to say what’s on my mind. Not yet, at least.”

She _will not_ allow that cherished piece of information to escape her lips. At least not until she’s had a few glasses of wine and can speak to him alone.

“Well, I apologize for being ungrateful,” he says.

She sighs, secretly wishing he would apologize for so much more. “It’s okay.”

“Will you tell me what’s on your mind? If not now, then later?” For once, he is _asking_ her instead of telling her. He wants to know more—ever inquisitive and with a sense of deep, intellectual curiosity that she has always found so endearing.

She pulls into his driveway and realizes that a long time must have passed after his question, and she still had not answered it. He makes a half-hearted attempt at humor by promising to be fashionably early to the party and hoping that Barbara hadn’t invited the whole town. Caitlin manages a small, genuine smile in return.

And then, as soon as his hand touches the door handle, she reaches out and grabs his sleeve.

“Do you remember that night after my thesis was submitted?” The words are pouring out of her in a tidal wave. “The night we stayed up together writing and re-writing, and editing until we could barely make sense of the words anymore?”

There’s an expression of restraint on his face, which is stronger than usual. He nods slowly, one hand still perched on the handle.

“It felt like something had finally shifted in all that time leading up to that night—that I was no longer just the daughter of your mentor, but maybe something close to friends. And I was ready to tell you everything that night. But…you fell asleep on the couch, and I lost my nerve.” She laughs, and it escapes as an odd little trill, louder than she had hoped. It does nothing to dispel her anxiety over this entire discussion—over what she is about to tell him.

“Tell me what?” He is _really_ staring at her now, as if he can read her thoughts in her eyes.

She swallows. “That you, Harrison Wells, are more lovable than you know.”

His expression is unreadable. “Caitlin—”

“Don’t say anything.” She blushes and quickly unlocks the car doors. “Just—just forget I said anything. It was silly of me.”

He opens the car door and steps out, turning back to say, “I’ll see you later, and we can talk then, okay?”

She nods her head, still unable to look at him.

“Caitlin.”

She meets his gaze. “Yeah, okay,” she says at last.

It’s a long, lonely car ride back to her parent’s house. She quickly brings the groceries inside and engages in some simple small talk with them. She knows they can tell something is off, but she ignores their glances and excuses herself, telling them she will see them in a few hours to help with the party.

Caitlin rushes home and slumps down onto her couch the instant the door shuts behind her. She grabs a nearby throw pillow and buries her face in it.

“Stupid, _stupid_!” She stays glued to the couch until her limbs itch to move, and she’s compelled to do something, _anything_, to take her mind off of this evening.

She opens her laptop and selects a well-loved playlist from her iTunes, setting the volume as high as it will go. While she lies there, her eyes wander to other parts of her room, noting dust on her side tables and stacks of books lying haphazardly on the floor. Normally, she keeps her apartment in pristine condition, but this speaks to her obvious mental state over the past week leading up to tonight’s party.

And with that thought, she is compelled off of her couch and into a fit of cleaning. She dusts the tables and notices the shelves are looking in a sad state as well—and while she’s there, why not organize her books to make room for her latest purchases? But before she can do that, she really should rearrange the piles of records in the corner. Her father told her they should be stored upright, and she’ll need to decide if they should be organized by genre or artist—but in the middle of this thought, she rounds the corner and finds Harrison Wells standing in her living room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come on this one! I took an idea and just ran with it. Let me know what you think!


	3. Loneliness is Just a Word - 2 of 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though his inner voice is setting off a five-bell alarm, he gives into an impractical impulse for once in his life.
> 
> -Alternate Universe, where Harrison Wells is an old family friend. Part 2 of 4

Harrison’s inner voice, which usually holds a lot more sway in his decision-making, does nothing to stop him in this moment. He knocks on the front door before he’s really thought about what might be on the other side, or what his presence here might actually insinuate. Not…that…there’s anything to insinuate…right?

His inner voice screams at him as he knocks again. And again. He can hear just beyond the door the rhythmic thumping of loud music, and his body moves forward before he’s really had time to think this through. Suddenly, he’s turning the handle of the door and stepping inside.

“Hello?” He says, just loud enough to echo in the front hallway.

He ventures further and finds himself standing in a cluttered living room. Music is pulsating from a laptop nearby, and he can barely hear his inner voice warning him that this was a bad idea—and then Caitlin is there in front of him. She’s holding a comically large feather duster in one hand and staring at him with a stunned expression.

“I’m sorry,” he practically shouts, pointing toward the laptop. “I knocked several times.”

Wordlessly, she steps around piles of books in the middle of the floor and pauses the music.

“Your door was unlocked,” he says, with what he hopes is an apologetic tone.

“I guess I—forgot in all the chaos,” she laughs, sounding a little forced, and points to the general disorder around her.

He clears his throat, feeling intensely that he is intruding.

He tries small talk—“Are you cleaning or making a mess?”—and fails.

“Both, I guess,” she answers, setting the duster aside and moving toward the nearest stack of books.

Now that he is inside her home and has thoroughly confused her, what is he supposed to say?

“How can you concentrate with that mindless nonsense blasting in the background?” _Great, now you’re criticizing her taste in music._

“Because it doesn’t require me to think. Pop music is the perfect non-distraction.”

He nods and lets his eyes drift away from her clearly befuddled expression to study the messy pile of records in the corner.

She must still be watching him, because she says, “Those are my dad’s albums. He let me have them as a graduation present. And before you say anything, I’m working on getting them shelved properly.”

“Yes,” he turns and attempts a smile, “one can’t just leave treasures like these lying around.” He points to a Barry Manilow album on the nearest stack.

“I’ll have you know that Mom and Dad danced to ‘My Baby Loves Me’ at their high school dance,” she scolds with a mocking tone, one hand on her hip for emphasis.

“Fair enough,” he says, struck with a sudden notion. “Now what should we play while we finish setting all of this up?” He indicates the boxes of unassembled bookshelves in the corner. “These can’t live in stacks. They have to be stored—”

“Upright,” she interrupts. “I know.”

He watches her as she bends down to retrieve a well-worn and faded case and hands it to him, indicating the turntable and primitive speakers resting on a small sofa table. He’s grateful for the excuse to look away. He’s had quite enough of her hair falling down in a soft waterfall to briefly hide her face from view. It happened earlier today in the car, and now the same sad, wistful expression is playing out on her features. For some reason, it cuts him to the quick. His ever-logical brain can’t conjure up a reason—or doesn’t want to.

He’s well aware of the danger of the subconscious, and lately his has been driving him absolutely mad in regards to Caitlin Snow. He’s had to remind himself over and over that she is Barbara and Jared’s daughter. She’s 15 years his junior. But today more than ever, he’s feeling some alarming and illogical emotions toward her. And unless he’s completely blind, she has been feeling the same cocktail of emotions towards him.

He refocuses on the task at hand and places the record on the turntable. He drops the needle and the song begins to play.

_You don’t know how bad it’s been_

_Since you been gone_

_Let me tell you how bad it’s been_

_Since you been gone_

He turns and finds Caitlin’s wide eyes studying him warily. Harrison clears his throat and says the first thing that comes to mind.

“You’ve got good taste. I always loved Chicago.”

When this less-than-enlightening statement draws nothing more than a small nod from her, he quickly turns to the boxes of shelves in the corner and starts the task of assembly. At this point, he doesn’t really care if she had other plans for them. He will do anything to avoid falling into her gaze again.

With Chicago providing background music, he loses himself in the job at hand. He has no idea what Caitlin is doing—it’s almost as if he is purposefully avoiding interaction in that moment. Before long, the shelves are fully assembled and resting against the wall. He turns with a triumphant smile to his companion, only to find her sitting on the floor creating smaller stacks of books beside the larger ones. She bobs her head gently with the music and hums along with the tune.

Harrison is struck, in this moment, how comfortable it is just to exist in the same space as Caitlin Snow. He’s always felt this, since before she matured into such a smart and accomplished woman—through her own merits and intellectual strength (perhaps due, in part, to his encouragement over the years). He’s held a deep respect for her for quite some time. It’s odd that he never considered it to be bordering on esteem or even affection…

She glances up and finds him studying her, letting out an unexpected laugh. “You have the oddest look on your face.”

“It’s nothing,” he says.

He visibly shakes himself from the deep reverie and joins her on the floor. _Snap out of it, Harrison, _his inner voice warns. _Best keep your distance before you do something pig-headed._

He tenaciously ignores this and folds his legs beneath him, allowing his knee to brush against hers. This has an observable effect on her. Her cheeks flush slightly and she draws away, focusing on the books beneath her fingers.

“What brought you here, Harrison?” Her question is direct, but she keeps her eyes trained downwards.

“To be completely honest,” he says with unusual candor, “I’m not sure.” When she is silent in response, he continues—not entirely sure he knows where this may be heading. “I know I upset you this afternoon, and I felt I couldn’t leave it at that.”

She shakes her head and plasters one of her trademark smiles across her face. “It’s fine. I was just being childish.”

“Caitlin,” he says—wishing the imperious tone in his voice wouldn’t rest so heavily with that one word. He’s been doing this far more often lately.

She meets his gaze with trepidation, at first, and then defiance. “Don’t go,” she says. “It’s as simple as that.”

He processes this for a moment. He’s at war with two parts of himself: one, for wishing he could leave the apartment immediately, knowing this can only lead to dangerous territory—and two, for wanting to take her in his arms and kiss her.

Instead, he chooses a third option: indecision. “I don’t know how to respond to that,” he says.

Caitlin lets her head fall back against the couch where she had been leaning and sighs. “Say nothing, and I will take that as your answer.”

He stares hard at her. He is ill equipped for the conversation she wants to have with him. He deals with complicated algorithms and theories on a daily basis, but when it comes to human emotions, he is often out of his depth.

Without a word, she stands and makes her way to the kitchen.

He listens to the sounds of water being poured into a kettle and the soft sizzle of droplets evaporating from the stove eye. She’s most likely making a pot of chamomile tea—her favorite. His eyes wander to the many objects around the room—to the minimalist paintings on the wall featuring ink-drawn birds and trees, and the practical furniture that fills her modest apartment. All of it speaks to Caitlin’s personality—a sensible, intelligent, and gentle woman.

He picks up the nearest hardback book and realizes it’s a collection of essays and articles he wrote with her father. It even includes entries that were never published that Harrison had composed on his own many years ago. The front cover falls open, and he realizes the spine is cracked from where she has obviously pored over these pages numerous times. There’s an inscription on the first page that reads:

_To my most supportive fan—perhaps you will appreciate these more than the IRB or my professors, who saw no use for them. Your friend, H.W._

He contemplates an image of Caitlin falling asleep with this book half-open beside her on the pillow, and something compels him to his feet. He’s in the kitchen in three steady bounds of his long legs and standing behind her.

“You kept this?”

She turns briefly at the sound of his voice, catching sight of the book in his outstretched hand.

“Of course I kept it,” she says, with a tone that conveys he is stupid for even asking the question.

And as he stares at her, baffled, he realizes he’s been stupid for not seeing the woman who has been in front of him all these years. To be fair, he’s never been good in the realm of romance (even—or especially—during his marriage), and right now he’s contemplating something that would change the course of their relationship. Though his inner voice is setting off a five-bell alarm, he gives into an impractical impulse for once in his life.

Harrison puts a hand on Caitlin’s shoulder, turns her towards him, and kisses her firmly on the lips. It’s chaste and brief. She appears confused—and rightfully so.

His conscience takes hold of him again. “Damn, that was stupid of me,” he says, stepping back. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”

She fixes him with an admonitory glance, her bangs falling across her knitted brows.

“Fine,” he concedes. “I know why.”

“But?” She supplies, handing him a steaming mug of tea.

He wants to say _it’s complicated_, but the words are caught in his throat. She’s fixed his tea with a dash of cream and the smallest hint of honey, just like he enjoys it. Of anyone, even Jared and Barbara, she knows him the best and has seen him at his worst.

She studies him over the rim of her mug as she takes a sip. She appears on the brink of speaking again, but her phone chimes, and she snatches it from the counter with a muttered apology.

“That’s my reminder to get ready. The party is in half an hour.” Caitlin gives him a half smile. “I really have to get ready, so—”

He doesn’t let her finish. Giving in to another impulse, he puts a hand under her chin and lifts her face to kiss her again. This time, he tastes chamomile and honey on her lips. When he leans back, she has a dreamy sort of detached expression on her face that sends laughter bubbling up from his throat.

“I’m a bit rusty,” he admits, “but I would be interested in continuing this discussion later.”

She smiles, and a touch of her usual sunshine peeks through for the first time all day.

“That sounds like a good plan.” Her voice is a bit breathless as she escorts him to the door.

He promises to see her later at the party, and before closing the door, she shouts after him, “You better promise to try and have a good time, at least!”

He decides not to answer but merely waves at her before entering his car and driving off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I do not own the rights to Barry Manilow's "My Baby Loves Me" or Chicago's "Loneliness is Just a Word." What I do own is this chapter, and I hope you will give me some feedback on how it's going. A third installment is currently in the works. Stay tuned!


	4. Old Fashioned Corkscrew - 3 of 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I think Harrison’s the only one who doesn’t know how you feel.”
> 
> -Alternate Universe where Wells is an old family friend. Part 3 of 4 (this thing keeps growing! It has a mind of its own)

Caitlin stares at her reflection in the mirror and pinches the inner part of her arm. _Confirmed: not a dream_.

Harrison had kissed her. Twice. What on earth is she supposed to do with that? And how can she expect to get herself together enough to dress for the party? It seems an impossible task, because now all her thoughts are lost in the possibilities of the evening and not on the eyeliner she has had to reapply twice. Where before she had been dreading the party, now she is anticipating it with nervous energy.

She tosses several dresses aside and settles on a merlot gown with a pencil skirt and slightly capped sleeves. It has a teardrop shaped hole near the neckline, and after much debate, she settles on a simple silver necklace and earrings with a scientific touch that she feels Harrison will appreciate.

Her phone chimes several times in a row (a tell-tale sign that her mother is asking multiple questions, one text at a time) and she checks herself a few more times in the mirror before darting out the door. She only has to return once to grab her purse and keys, and then she is finally on her way.

The moment she steps inside, her mother fills the hallway with a tirade of questions, punctuated with compliments on her outfit.

“Did you bring any ice? No? Well, I’ll send your father out for some. Oh, I love those earrings! Double helixes. Harrison and your father will get a kick out of those. Do you know how long crab puffs should cook in the oven? And should they be runny?”

Caitlin answers each question in order and rushes into the kitchen to assist her mother with cooking and prepping for the guests. At the sight of the veritable feast of finger foods littering the countertops, Caitlin feels a sense of dread.

“Mom, how many people did you invite to this?”

Her mom makes a non-committal noise by the oven and changes the topic. “Do you think I should re-do these? The dough just would not cooperate this afternoon. I followed the instructions precisely—”

“Mom,” Caitlin asks again, inserting herself between her mother and the closed oven door.

“Oh, why does it matter? Your father and I thought that—”

“_You_, not dad,”

“Yes, fine—_I_ thought that we should have as many people from the company as possible that worked with Harrison. I want this send-off to be memorable.”

“Oh, it will at that,” Caitlin agrees. “But Mom, how many people is ‘as many as possible?’”

Her mom is silent for a moment. “Thirty.”

“Mom!”

“I didn’t expect them all to come! I guess the idea of free wine and finger foods was too tempting for them.”

“Do we even have enough chairs for everyone?”

“Oh, never mind that. Everyone will be standing around anyway. And just look at the state of these crab puffs. I’m going to have to throw them out. Where is your father? I need him to get ice and maybe pick up an extra cheese tray—Jared?” Her mother darts out of the kitchen in search of her dad, and Caitlin is left to deal with the rapidly burning, runny pastry in the oven.

“You look nice,” a voice says from the kitchen door.

Caitlin turns and faces her dad with a frown. “Thirty people, Dad? Really? And mom’s looking for you.”

He laughs and steps forward to kiss her cheek. “Why do you think I’m hiding in here? And you know your mother—any excuse to host a party. I’m out to fetch ice, two cheese trays, a chocolate cake, and another bottle of wine. Any requests from you?”

She laughs and pulls the smoking pan from the oven. “Maybe some more puffs?”

“I’ll have the sous chef at The Food Barn get right on that.”

Her mother’s voice is heard from the other room—“Harrison, you’re early! Of all the cheek.”

“Our guest of honor is punctual as always,” her father lifts a hand and pats her on the back. “Entertain him till I get back, will you?” He winks at her and walks out the side door to the car.

She stares after him with a frown. He was just joking. But somehow she felt like he was insinuating more than that…

“I better go with him,” her mom says as she practically runs across the kitchen after him. “He won’t get the right kind of cake, and he’ll no doubt forget the cheese tray.”

“But what about the guests? Won’t they be here in twenty minutes? Mom!”

“Stall them till we get back!” Her mom shouts over her shoulder just before disappearing out the door.

Caitlin leaves the question hanging and stares down at the ruined appetizers still sizzling on the tray in her hand.

“Nothing changes at the Snow house.” Harrison asks from the doorway.

She meets his keen gaze with a smile. “They do this song and dance every single time. What was the point of us going to the store earlier for all those crackers if she forgot to put cheese on the list?”

“Can I help you with something?”

She lifts the piping hot tray in his direction. “Not unless you can turn back time and fix these.”

“Alas,” he says with a sad shake of his head, “I can only do so much with quantum physics.”

Caitlin cocks her head and flutters her lashes at him in mock admiration. “So modest.”

She tosses the offending crab puffs and starts piling grapes and crackers onto her mother’s decorative dishes. Harrison jumps in to lend a hand, despite her avid belief that the guest of honor should not be assisting with kitchen duties.

“I have to do this to keep myself from taking you in my arms.”

She fixes him with a blank stare. “Are you making fun of me?”

“I’m serious,” he says, with a decidedly un-serious twinkle in his blue eyes. He follows this in a more sober tone with: “You look lovely tonight.”

She thanks him and moves to assemble the second plate. He follows, standing rather closer than is absolutely necessary.

The kitchen door opens, and they are greeted unexpectedly by her parents. “Your father reminded me that we bought five blocks of cheese last night, and there are cheesecake squares and bags of ice in the freezer. Oh, I hope no one is lactose intolerant.”

She turns to Caitlin’s dad who instantly shuts down any notions of trying to leave again. Once she’s satisfied with the fact that there are plenty of options for everyone, she returns to the pair in the kitchen.

“Don’t you two look cozy?” She grins.

Caitlin smiles in return, inwardly wondering what has gotten into her parents tonight. Surely they both can’t have noticed at the same time? Or is her affection for Harrison written all over her? To avoid any more pointed observations from her mother, Caitlin takes the finished tray and delivers it to the living room. Except her father doesn’t let her off that easily.

“I thought you’d be a little sadder tonight, unless you’re doing a bang-up job of hiding it,” he says in a hushed voice while he works on uncorking a bottle of wine.

She can only stare at him and whisper, “How long have you known?”

“Darling, I’ve known for a long time that you cared for him. Even your mother noticed it. I think Harrison’s the only one who doesn’t know how you feel.”

She swallows around the sudden lump in her throat. “He found out tonight, I think. I’m still not sure what will happen, but…you’re not upset?”

“Well,” he says with a pensive look, “we were concerned at first that you’d be heartbroken. But then we realized you are a strong and capable woman, and even if he was stupid enough to miss the signs, he’d figure it out eventually.” He struggles and finally manages to remove the cork with a satisfying _pop_. “Ha! One down, five to go.”

Caitlin steps forward and hugs her father tightly. “Thanks, Daddy.”

“You’re welcome, sweet pea. Now, help me finish these off. I always pinch myself with these fancy wine bottle opener thingies. Whatever happened to the old fashioned cork screw?”

She laughs and assists him with the remaining bottles.

The guests begin to arrive, and she’s kept at a distance from Harrison by the usual suspects—coworkers, colleagues, and well-wishers. She finds herself pulled in multiple directions by assisting her mother with hostess duties as well as keeping guests happy with the customary chitchat that is required at parties. Though she would enjoy engaging in more scientific discussions, she’s rarely given the opportunity as she’s called upon to fill wine glasses, refresh the snack supply, and refill toilet paper in the guest bathroom.

At the end of the night, many have left to return home to their respective families. A few stragglers remain, but Barbara manages to politely but effectively encourage them to leave once it nears eleven. Finally, it’s just the Snows and Harrison—like old times, and they all relax with their final glasses of wine in front of a dying fire. Caitlin boldly takes a seat beside Harrison on the loveseat. Her mother lies prostrate on the couch, exhausted, and her father sits in the recliner nearby.

“How did we do for your final party, Wells?” Her father asks.

“Jared!” Caitlin’s mother chides him and tosses a throw pillow in his direction. “That’s not polite.”

“You worked hard, Barbara. I just want to know our guest enjoyed himself.”

Harrison smiles. “It was a delightful party. There were only 5 people I didn’t know.”

Her mother’s head pops up from the couch cushion. “Which ones? Was it the Wakowskis? I really took a gamble on their invitation. Or was it that nice Mr. Roberts and his partner?”

“Don’t fret, my dear,” Jared pats his wife’s hand. “You were the perfect hostess. And besides, Harrison usually has his head stuck so far into his work that he doesn’t know half of his coworkers.” He laughs. “I only hope he’s more observant at his new position.”

Caitlin grips her wine glass tightly. She had been dreading this conversation all night. Thankfully, her mother never insisted on asking the guest of honor to provide any sort of farewell speech, and she managed to keep the toasts to a minimum. But now the moment has finally arrived, and she is not equipped for it. She downs the rest of her chardonnay and reaches for the bottle to pour herself some more.

“Are you still leaving us, Harrison?” her mother asks, her voice a bit muffled by the throw pillow under her head.

“If you aren’t, just lie and say you are—otherwise all her hard work will have been in vain,” her father warns with an exaggerated wince.

“Yes, I’m still leaving.”

Caitlin sets the bottle aside, having filled her glass almost to the brim. She lifts it and takes a swig while Harrison continues.

“That is, I’m still leaving your company, Jared, but I’ve found a remote position here in town.”

She’s suddenly choking on the last gulp of her drink—one of those awful instances where it gets caught in your throat coming and going. She gags and darts to the kitchen without excusing herself. Caitlin stands over the sink and coughs till she can catch a breath. Her throat burns with the wine, and she feels as though she may be sick. She hears her parents talking in the other room, but suddenly a warm hand is on her back.

She turns, and at the sight of Harrison, she punches him in the arm.

“What on earth was that for?” He rubs his forearm. “You’re stronger than you look.”

She’s still struggling to regain the ability to talk around coughing, but she manages to rasp out, “You son of a bitch.”

He’s visibly taken aback and quickly offers her a glass of water. She takes it and gulps it down, feeling her throat slowly regaining normal function.

“You lied to me,” she says at last.

“How did I lie?”

“You let me think you were leaving—you let me grieve and miss you before you’d even left, and now you’re not even going? What the hell?”

He blinks at her behind his glasses. “You’ve got a temper. I’m surprised.”

“We Snows have a short fuse. We just don’t always show it—and don’t change the subject. You _lied_ to me!”

“Caitlin,” he says gently, taking hold of her shoulders. “I only found out about the remote position a half hour before the party. I called and made a deal that I could stay here.”

“Oh,” she says, her anger deflating like a popped balloon.

There’s a knock on the other side of the kitchen, and her dad is standing in the doorway with a sheepish look on his face. “Sorry to interrupt—I’m putting your mother to bed. She’s fast asleep on the couch. You two feel free to make yourselves at home.” He directs the last statement to Caitlin: “And you holler if you need anything, okay? Love you, sweet pea.”

They both offer distracted good nights, and turn to stare at each other.

“Should we continue this elsewhere?”

Caitlin nods, truly unable to verbalize any sort of coherent response.

“Can you drive?” He asks, and she slowly shakes her head. “Well, come on, then,” and he directs her out the door and to his car.

They ride in silence until they pull into her driveway. She wonders what her parents will think when they see her car still at their place—but she reminds herself, even in her addled state of mind, that she’s a grown adult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, wow. Okay so this one doesn't seem to want to stop yet. I"ll let you know when I finally finish it - but this thing may end up getting posted as a separate entity. Insane! Let me know what you think!


	5. Dopamine - 4 of 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Did I do anything else horrible last night?”
> 
> “You danced around in your underwear and collapsed on the floor.”
> 
> -Alternate universe where Wells is an old family friend, Part 4 of 4.

Harrison pulls into the driveway and wonders just how insane he has to be at this very moment. He practically changed his five-year plan at this new company all for the promise of something new with Caitlin Snow. He glances at her in the passenger seat with her head resting on the window and her lips gently parted in the beginnings of sleep, and he realizes he may not be so crazy after all.

He exits the car and painstakingly begins the task of escorting a sleepy, drunk person into their home. She practically falls out of the car and into his arms, and he only manages to catch her by dropping his car keys. Big mistake. He has to prop her up against the car and try to retrieve them without letting Caitlin fall face-first onto the concrete. With keys in hand, he realizes that he will need _her_ keys to enter the apartment. He growls with frustration and discovers her handbag is thankfully in the center console of his car.

“’M not drunk, juss tired and tippy—er, tipsy,” she insists, while leaning heavily against him.

“Whatever you say,” he says consolingly. All those glasses of chardonnay she drank must have hit her at once.

He props her up against the bench on her porch and prays she stays there till he can grab her keys. Once he has them, he returns and finds her slumped over as if asleep.

“I don’t feel well,” she says as he lifts her to her feet.

He hums in response and gently navigates her across the threshold and into the apartment.

“Where’s your bedroom?”

In response, she lifts a hand and points down the hall past the kitchen.

“Off of the kitchen? Hmm,” he says with a disapproving tone.

“Sss cheap and rent controlled,” she slurs in response.

He can’t help but laugh.

“I drank ‘cause I was sad, ‘kay? And then you told me—you lied to me, but you didn’t lie to me, and then now I’m confused,” Caitlin continues as they make their way to her room.

He’s unable to speak as more and more of her weight rests against him with each step. Harrison flicks the light on, with some effort, and manages to maneuver his almost limp, unconscious companion to her bed. While he gently removes her shoes, he contemplates whether or not he should undress her. He quickly shakes his head at this thought and places the blanket over her.

“I’ve learned some new things about you tonight. You’ve got a temper, and you’re a total light weight.”

“Yeah,” she sighs contentedly as her eyes close. “But you like it.”

He reaches down and tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Yeah,” he says, “I do.”

The light glints off of something sparkly against her chest, and he notices her necklace for the first time that evening. It is in the shape of a molecule—dopamine. A smile fills his face as he carefully unclasps it and sets it on her nightstand.

He steps out of the room, leaving the door open a crack, and turns off the light as he leaves. He helps himself to a glass of water (well-deserved after the exertions he has just gone through) and debates whether or not to travel home. This would leave Caitlin without a car in the morning. His eyes drift to the couch, and he begins to feel sleep creeping up on him. _Best stay here for the night—in case she needs something._ He grabs a throw blanket from a nearby cushioned chair and collapses in a heap beneath it. Just before totally falling asleep, he manages to send a brief text to Jared letting him know Caitlin is safe at home in her bed.

The morning breaks with little preamble or fanfare—except an especially stubborn stream of sunlight wakes him by peeking between the curtains. A delicious aroma reaches his nose. He tosses the cover aside and makes his way into the kitchen. Caitlin is standing at the sink in a bathrobe with freshly washed hair and sipping a cup of coffee.

He stands there and takes in this scene for a few silent moments.

“Would you care to join me?” She says, not bothering to turn around.

“I would love to.”

Caitlin pulls down another mug and fixes his cup. He knows it will be exactly the way he likes it, because that’s just how she is.

He takes a seat at a small two-person café table in the corner of the kitchen, but she doesn’t join him.

“I want to apologize about last night,” she says, still with her back to him.

“You have nothing to apologize for—except perhaps the bruise on my right arm.”

She turns at this with a shocked look. “I hit you, didn’t I? Oh, my God…I’m so embarrassed.”

“Don’t be,” he says with a smile. “I was impressed.”

“Well, how did you expect me to react?” She asks with a new note of defiance in her voice. “You sprung that information on all of us without any warning. Meanwhile I had had far too much to drink.”

“I noticed. And I’m sorry.”

“Did I do anything else horrible last night?”

“You danced around in your underwear and collapsed on the floor.”

She fixes him with a stern glance. “That was a trick question. I remember almost everything, and that decidedly did _not_ happen.”

Caitlin walks out of the room and slumps down on the couch. It’s happening again, where she’s inadvertently forcing him to come after her—and it doesn’t seem to bother him in the least. He follows shortly after and sits beside her. His inner voice is surprisingly quiet this morning, so he decides now is as good a time as ever to have the discussion they never finished yesterday. He sets his coffee on a nearby side table, and she does the same.

“Caitlin, I decided to stay because of you.”

She turns to him with a deer-in-headlights expression. “I can’t handle that pressure, Harrison. What if this falls apart, and you’ve lost out on an opportunity? What if you hate the new position here and you start to resent me? I don’t want to be the reason you miss something great for yourself.”

He reaches over and tucks a strand of damp hair behind her ear. “I haven’t ruined any chances. If you don’t already know, I’m kind of a big deal in the scientific community.”

“Ha-ha,” she says without any humor. “Mr. Big Shot.”

“I’m serious,” he says, leaning toward her. “I can’t calculate or predict how this will go, but I’m willing to try this out on a trial basis.”

She copies his movement and places a hand on his chest. “If you need to view this as some sort of experiment, I’m absolutely on board with it.”

He laughs and draws her into his arms. “Then let me try something,” and he kisses her.

She reciprocates with surprising fervor, and her hands snake up the back of his neck and into his hair. She tastes of coffee and smells of a citrusy perfume, and she’s the first woman that feels right in his arms.

_-End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've reached the end of this storyline at last. Thoughts? Comments? Concerns? I'll take them all.


	6. Schrodinger's Cat - 1 of 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of 5
> 
> Alternate universe where Harrison and Caitlin are professors at the same small-town college. 
> 
> **Jonesborough, TN is a real place, but Jonesborough College is entirely fabricated. Also, please forgive my lack of scientific knowledge...

Things were going just fine—or, rather, as fine as they could be with Harrison Well’s general demeanor and constitution. He was a full professor at Jonesborough College, and while it may not be the most prestigious or renowned educational institution (many don’t even know it exists), for the most part, he was content. The classes were small, so he could pretend to _try_ and learn the students’ names. He also had a spacious, private office in the Arts and Sciences building.

That is, until today.

Dean Purvis walked in and declared, in no uncertain terms, “Dr. Wells, we’re moving the new chemistry professor in here temporarily until the renovations are finished.”

There is heavy subtext, such as: _no one else volunteered to move in here with you and we have no other options_.

He knows he has no choice in the matter so he just nods his head.

The dean clears his throat, his confidence clearly waning. “So if you could, er, make room for a desk over by that window, that would be great. She’s coming in this afternoon, so…pretty soon. If you can.”

Harrison sighs, staring at the man’s bald spot as he turns to leave. He knows he’ll be joined by one of two types of professors. It will either be a grizzled, experienced teacher who has been here long enough to teach his colleagues’ grandchildren, or it will be a bright, young face with an overabundance of naïve ambition.

He reluctantly sets to the task of cleaning. Rather than truly straightening his clutter, he just pushes it into what is now only his half of the office. He leaves himself a few pathways between stacks of books, papers, and diagrams. The chalkboard will have to stay where it is. Whoever joins him can even use it as a makeshift room divider if they like, although he’ll frequently be using it for his notes. He moves it into the middle of the room anyway, creating a sort of half-wall between the two sides.

Harrison is in the midst of “organizing” (i.e. moving junk from one corner to another) when someone knocks at the door. He glances up, only to see a large, potted fern with arms and legs in his doorway.

“Hi, uh, Dr. Wells?” A soft, pleasant voice reaches his ears from behind the plant.

He swallows down a sudden urge to laugh and approaches. “Yes. Would you like some help?”

She turns him down, but it’s clear she’s struggling to keep her grip on the ceramic pot. He steps forward and grips the edge of it just before she drops it, and together they move it into the corner.

They step back, and he finally gets a good look at his new office mate. She’s quite tall—almost as tall as himself. He’s not the type to be intimidated by this, however. She’s young, thin, and has an air of quiet confidence beneath her smile.

“I’m Caitlin Snow.” She extends a hand.

He wipes his palm clean of dirt before accepting the handshake. “Dr. Wells. You can call me Harrison.”

This takes him by surprise. _No one _calls him Harrison. It’s not that he insists upon it, like professors who want to lord their PhD status over all others—it’s simply that he’s not the most personable individual. No one had dared try it. He doesn’t know why he’s allowing her this rare privilege.

He clears his throat and offers to assist her with any of her other items, and she gladly accepts this time. When they return with several heavy boxes of books, they find the dean and two adjunct faculty members moving a large desk into the office.

“Ah, Dr. Snow. I see you’ve already met each other,” Dean Purvis fixes his gaze on Caitlin. It has a glint that Harrison can only describe as lecherous.

Caitlin gives him a tight smile and walks around him. She sets her items down and introduces herself to the others in the room.

“Cisco Ramon, at your service!” A bright, cheerful voice returns. “Dr. Wells, good to see you,” Cisco stands at attention and actually salutes his older peer.

Harrison rolls his eyes and walks past him. Cisco is a talented professor but his cheeriness can be a bit wearing.

“I hope you both settle in nicely,” the dean says, still staring at Caitlin. “Do let me know if you have any issues at all. My office is downstairs.”

She thanks him with a sudden cold politeness, which is in strong contrast to the high five she gives Cisco, along with a promise to meet for coffee.

“I see you’re making friends among the staff already.” Harrison says with a half-smile.

She meets his gaze after shutting their office door. “Did the dean check out my ass on the way out?”

He cringes. “They don’t call him ‘Pervy Purvis’ for no reason.”

“That’s disgusting.” Her brow is furrowed beneath her long bangs, the disgust clearly written on her face. “Has anyone done anything about it?”

He shakes his head. “Unfortunately, money talks louder than the truth.”

She crosses her arms. “That’s a rather cynical view, don’t you think?”

“Stay in academia as long as I have, and you’ll see what I mean.” He turns his back and begins shuffling his piles of clutter around again.

They fall into a comfortable silence, and he’s awarded the chance to study her figure when it comes into view around the standing chalkboard. Despite his vehement dislike of the man, he can’t blame Dean Purvis for ogling Caitlin. She is pretty.

_And young_, the rational part of his mind tells him.

He suddenly asks, “Did you have any other teaching positions before this one?” 

She turns, visibly surprised to find him staring at her. “I taught for a few semesters as a lecturer in my hometown, but this is going to be my first adjunct position.”

He nods his head, doing some quick calculating. If she graduated high school and went straight to school—factoring in the years it takes to earn an undergraduate and master’s degree as well as a PhD—he guesses she must at least be in her late twenties.

_Too young_. This thought startles him, and it takes him a moment to realize she’d asked him a question.

“I beg your pardon?” He says, his neck flushing slightly.

“I asked how long you’ve been teaching.”

“Oh. I’ve been at this post ten years or so. Before that, I taught at Stanford for a year, and before that, I was a research assistant for three years after earning my doctorate.”

Caitlin fixes him with a wide-eyed stare. “I’m impressed.” She smiles, and it’s warm and inviting. “And, if you don’t mind, I’ll probably be coming to you for advice every now and then since you are definitely the expert.”

He was glad she didn’t ask him why he’d moved to historic Jonesborough, Tennessee all the way from California. He has no interest in prestige. He just wants a quiet life where he can go about his work uninterrupted. Quiet towns are ideal for that, even if it comes with the usual small-town nonsense.

He thinks back to his first year here, and how the old biddies in town (catching wind that he was a bachelor) had tried to set him up with Susan Peters. After one disastrous coffee date, where they ran out of things to say to each other within the first fifteen minutes, the old women and gossips quickly labeled him a lost cause.

He prefers it that way.

Caitlin navigates the narrow space between her desk and the standing chalkboard, and she suddenly loses her footing, knocking into the board.

He stands up and peers around it to ensure she’s all right.

“I’m fine,” she says, wiping chalk dust from the bottom of her sweater. “But I think I might have erased part of your Schrodinger equation.”

Harrison can only blink at her.

“Did I get that wrong?” She asks, tucking a strand of hair behind on ear.

“No, you’re perfectly right. You have an interest in quantum physics?”

She nods with a sheepish expression. “Schrodinger’s cat scenario caught my interest at a young age. I just settled on chemistry because the jobs were in higher demand.”

He gives her a wry smile. “I suppose professors like me stay in these positions till they die.”

“Exactly,” she says, picking up the chalk and filling in the missing portion of the equation.

Without a word, he turns and resumes his organizing with renewed vigor. He’s struggling to fight down a wave of confusing thoughts. To combat this, he begins sifting through dusty boxes of papers under his window and is quickly distracted by the old journals on his bookshelf. He loses himself in too many projects at once.

But he stops when he hears a soft knocking behind him. Caitlin taps her knuckles on the side of the chalkboard like a door.

“Do you have a minute to show me where the coffee shop is? It’s called Jeepers or something...”

Harrison considers this for a moment. He considers _her. _He should turn her down and hole himself up in his office, keeping her at a safe distance like he does with most of the faculty.

He opens his mouth with a clear intent to do so and says, “It’s called Jitters. This is a one coffee shop town.”

He blinks behind his glasses. There’s some sort of disconnect happening between his brain and his mouth, and he doesn’t like it.

They exit the office and stroll through the green, and he wonders how long it’s been since he’s walked outside for pleasure rather than necessity. Caitlin comments on the massive trees lining the walkway.

“I never noticed them,” he says, truthfully. 

His head is normally wrapped up in his upcoming lectures or dreading the inevitable task of grading a thousand tests.

It’s a short walk, only three or four blocks. He contemplates joining her for a quick coffee, when they’re unexpectedly joined by Cisco who naturally dominates the conversation.

“So I added you on Facebook—oh, hey Dr. Wells—and I found out it’s YOUR BIRTHDAY!” Cisco practically screams, and he turns to ask the barista if they give out free cake pops in these situations.

Caitlin demurs, but Cisco already has two cake pops in either hand. He hands one to Harrison and he stares at it with a bemused expression.

“Happy birthday,” Harrison says, handing it to Caitlin.

Cisco has turned and resumed conversation with the attractive young girl behind the counter.

“You’re not staying?” she asks with a warm smile.

He shakes his head, nodding towards Cisco. “You’re in good hands. Ramon is a nice guy.”

An odd frown passes over her features, but he’s convinced he imagined it because it’s replaced with a sunny smile the next second when Cisco holds up a third cake pop, this time with rainbow sprinkles.

“Thirty-two, flirty-two, and thriving!” He says in a singsong voice.

Caitlin gives Harrison a wave as he departs.

_Thirty-two, flirty-two_...Cisco’s words echo back in his mind during the short return journey.

Harrison shakes this thought loose from his head. He’s rapidly losing his common sense. These thoughts are illogical and bordering on Pervy Purvis-level creepy.

He clears his mind and focuses on the many tasks involved in creating order out of his chaotic office. His thoughts, however, are as cluttered as his desk drawers.

He moves the chalkboard flat against the wall between the two windows, and his eyes drift to the bottom corner. Schrodinger’s equation is there, written in a delicate, neat hand and not a symbol out of place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's high time Wells gets flustered around a woman he's inexplicably attracted to. What will happen next? Will Cisco ever pay for another cake pop in his life? Will Pervy Purvis be making another appearance? Is Schrodinger's cat dead and alive at the same time? Find out next time...


	7. Planck's Constant - 2 of 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of 5
> 
> Alternate universe where Harrison and Caitlin are professors at the same small-town college.

Caitlin has made only slight headway moving into the office—and even slower progress figuring out her new officemate. 

Weeks before this happened, she had mentioned it in passing to her friend Iris, who was a non-traditional student at Jonesborough she’d met during summer orientation. The school was so small that it only offered one orientation a year to introduce upcoming students and professors to the campus and all its amenities. The two of them had been drawn to each other (being the oldest ones in the group of fresh, young faces) and have been inseparable ever since.

“You’ll be sharing with _him_?!” Iris had stopped in her tracks, forcing an approaching skateboarder to swerve around them.

Caitlin nodded her head slowly. “Is that good or bad?”

“Well,” Iris considered, “he’s not _bad_, necessarily. Just kind of standoffish and brusque. It’s unfortunate because he is very attractive.”

Caitlin rolled her eyes. “As if I need any more complications in my life right now.”

Iris linked arms with her. “He’s got it all—tall with piercing blue eyes, ruffled dark hair, glasses—the works.”

“Should I tell Barry to be worried?” Caitlin asked, trying to picture the man Iris was describing. For some reason, all she could imagine was a Ken doll with dark hair. Not her type at all.

Iris laughed and flushed slightly at the mention of her high school sweetheart. 

And now, having seen Dr. Wells in the flesh, Caitlin has to admit she’s in a little bit of trouble. Yes, he’s tall, dark, and handsome like Iris said, but he’s also incredibly intelligent, which is a virtue she values more highly than anything else. To her friend, she simply maintains, “everything’s fine, nothing special.”

“But that’s what you always say,” Iris persists, wandering over to Harrison’s side of the office. “Has he been rude?” 

“Not really—don’t touch that!” She hovers around her friend, anxious that he will come back any moment.

Iris sets down the glass paperweight and sighs. “Well, has he been friendly?”

“Yes,” Caitlin responds, wondering what she can say to put an end to this discussion.

Her friend crosses her arms and leans against the top of Harrison’s desk.

Caitlin rolls her eyes and huffs. “Okay, fine, he’s been incredibly nice—maybe even _charming_ in his unique way, and we’ve been talking a lot. Are you satisfied?”

“Not unless ‘talking’ is secret Caitlin Snow code for ‘harboring a new, deep affection towards one another.’” 

Caitlin grabs a metal pencil sharpener from Iris’s hand and puts it back on the desk with an imploring look.

Iris gives her a quick hug. “I’m sorry. You know I’m just teasing you because you don’t tell me anything.”

Caitlin nods in response, incapable of refuting this fact. She’s always had trouble opening up to people. Iris likes to tease her, but she never tries to make Caitlin feel guilty about her reticence on personal subjects.

“In the interest of sharing things,” Caitlin walks over to her side of the office. “He did buy me a belated birthday present.”

Iris raises her eyebrows but says nothing for a moment. “Wow, that’s…unexpected.”

“Yeah,” is all Caitlin can say in response.

The potted succulent had just been waiting on her desk one morning—nearly three weeks after she’d gotten settled. 

Harrison had said nothing about it until she asked him, to which he simply responded, “I saw it and thought you could use another.” He tilted his head toward her growing collection of plants with a wry smile. 

And that’s what confuses her the most about him. He’s supposed to be this prickly, grouchy, standoffish individual (not that he hasn’t had the occasional grumpy day around her) and here he is, buying her a succulent in a plum-colored, ceramic pot. It just happens to be her favorite color.

Harrison enters the office, and Caitlin puts the plant down so quickly it causes the entire shelf to rattle. 

“Oh,” he says, fixing Iris with a curious glance after staring briefly at the back of Caitlin’s head.

“Hi, I’m Iris West,” she steps forward and holds out her hand. He takes it and offers a small smile in return.

“Are you a new student?”

“Yes, I’m working on my bachelor’s in journalism.”

“I see.” He nods his head. “It’s very nice to meet you, Iris.” After this, a brief lull falls over the trio. 

He clears his throat and makes his way to the other side of the office, evidently feeling out of place with both of them. That’s the odd thing, too. Harrison is less than ten years her senior (she won’t admit to Iris that she did the math) yet he acts as if he’s too far removed from her social circle and age group. Or perhaps, she reminds herself, he’s just introverted—which is a concept she is intimately familiar with.

Iris gives Caitlin a goofy grin (out of Dr. Well’s line of vision) and promises to get coffee later, intimating that Cisco and Barry will be joining them as well. Caitlin’s friend departs, and she takes the air of lively chatter with her. She turns and finds Harrison studying her.

“People with vivacious personalities seem drawn to you.”

Caitlin nods her head, thinking of Barry’s ever-cheerful nature—a perfect match for Iris’s deeply affectionate (sometimes moody and sensitive) disposition. And Cisco is a ball of energy whose enthusiasm cannot be curbed.

“I honestly don’t know why,” she muses aloud. “I’m usually the type of person others have to really work to get to know me.”

He nods his head but doesn’t confirm or deny what she already knows to be true of Dr. Harrison Wells.

A full month flies by before she can even blink, and suddenly she’s preparing tests for her three classes. Their usual routine is disrupted by Caitlin’s sudden fit of irritation and frustration—likely a response to the stress of approaching midterms.

They had fallen into a normal pattern. Most days, they arrive around the same time, and she fixes them both a cup of coffee from the pot her parents had loaned her. He takes his with a dollop of creamer and she likes to sweeten hers with a bit of sugar. They sit quietly at their respective desks (because neither of them could possibly hold a full conversation before their first cup of coffee) and get ready for the day. Once they’ve moved onto their second cup, they converse mildly about various subjects, often venturing into the realm of quantum physics, until one or both of them has to leave for class. Sometimes Harrison even walks her to her classroom across campus.

This morning, however, she puts an abrupt end to their comfortable routine. It all starts when she discovers they’ve run out of coffee. Then, she realizes her computer lost the final copy of the exams she had worked so tirelessly on the night before. She’s scrambling to recreate the formatting and questions, but her addled mind is still foggy with sleep. To make matters worse, any time she tries to walk around her desk, she keeps tripping over a pile of old journals. Harrison’s clutter has started to pile up again, and she’s instantly furious.

She can’t concentrate in a messy room. Until today, she had been able to ignore it. But this morning, she has no coffee and zero patience. With a huff, she stands up and sets to work.

She has no idea how long she sorts through some of his boxes, but she hears a noise behind her and turns around, her face instantly suffusing with blushes. Harrison is staring at her with a look of incomprehension.

\--

Caitlin is elbow-deep in a cardboard box of books he had intended to sort through and donate. He realizes she’s blushing, and it takes him a moment to gather his thoughts. _That’s quite an attractive look_.

He clears his throat. “Can I help you with something?”

“Oh my God, I am so sorry,” She says, dropping the book she was holding back into its box. “I—I was having a rough time getting started, and I lost my exam, and then I kept tripping on this stuff. I’ve never said anything, but the clutter has been driving me crazy, so I am just—really sorry. It won’t happen again.”

His eyes widen, and suddenly he’s laughing—a full, throaty laugh that fills the entire room. Even he is startled by it.

He tries to compose himself and says, “You get the coffee started and I’ll pitch in.”

Caitlin steps forward and takes the bag of coffee from his outstretched hand. “You are a lifesaver.”

He just smiles and shakes his head. “I’ve been meaning to take care of this, but there have been many distractions these days.”

He doesn’t voice it aloud, but he hopes she doesn’t read his subtext. He hesitates to admit it to himself, but she’s been more than a preoccupation lately. But not in a bad way.

With the delightful sounds and aromas of brewing coffee, they set to work. She designates parts of the room to different functions: keep, throw away, or donate. He dives into the activity with renewed vigor. Perhaps he just needed an extra set of hands to really motivate him to finish the onerous task.

An hour passes, and suddenly he finds himself seated on the floor beside her, sifting through endless stacks of outdated journals. He glances up and finds himself studying her. She’s leaning over and thumbing through an old edition of _Physics Today_, and her hair has fallen down from its loose ponytail at the nape of her neck. He has to forcibly keep his hands from reaching out and pushing the dark locks away from her face. These uncontrollable thoughts are alarming, and he’s not sure they’ll ever truly stop as long as Caitlin Snow is in his office.

She turns and finds him gazing at her. She blinks at him and offers a small half-smile.

“You’re different from what they said you’d be.” The words seem to escape her lips without thought, and she bites her lip and glances away.

A chuckle rises up from his throat. “Is that so?”

Caitlin appears relieved, letting out a breath she had been holding.

He readjusts his seated position. His knee brushes against hers as if of its own volition. He draws back and leans against the wall.

“I’m still ornery and set in my ways,” he says, indicating the piles of clutter around them. “But I must admit you’re bringing some much-needed change to this office.” _And to my life_, his mind contributes.

He shakes his head, alarmed at this sudden tendency towards sentimentality.

Caitlin opens her mouth to speak, but her phone chimes loudly in the corner. She stands up and turns off her alarm. “_Shit_!” She says. “I only have an hour before class. There’s no way I can finish the exams in time.”

“It’s my fault,” he says, standing and bringing her a now-tepid cup of coffee.

She ignores him, still obviously in the throes of a near-meltdown.

“Hey,” he says, venturing a bold gesture by putting his hand on her shoulder. “From what I hear, your students are doing very well in your class. Why not just…let this one slide?”

She gazes at him, and it’s her turn to display clear incomprehension.

“I know, I know,” he holds his hands up in surrender. “Leave it to the ‘strictest, least lenient teacher at Jonesborough’ to suggest it.”

She ventures a small smile. “That is what they say about you.”

Caitlin looks down at her computer and then back at him, appearing to weigh her options. With a sigh, she shrugs her shoulders and says, “Why not?”

Harrison returns to his cup of coffee, studying her over its rim as she types a quick email. He wonders just how much trouble he’d be in if he took the entire day off. And it’s thoughts like this that confirm that Caitlin is driving him to some highly unusual behavior.

She closes her laptop and fixes him with a sudden smile, filled with so much sunshine that it spills from her and fills the entire room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confirmed: lots of pining on either side. What will happen between these two oblivious, academically-minded individuals? Check in next chapter.


	8. Wave Function - 3 of 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 3 of 5
> 
> Alternate universe where Harrison and Caitlin are professors at the same small-town college.
> 
> **WARNING - possibly triggering material in this chapter. Purvy Pervis makes an appearance and makes his lecherous wishes known. But (spoilers) everyone is okay.

Caitlin glances at her companion as they make their way downstairs. They’ve both just emailed their respective classes to give everyone the day off, and she feels an inexplicable giddiness at an entire Friday off. They are on their second-to-last trip to the car to drop off boxes of items to donate, and she can’t help the delicious sense of mischief that overtakes her—especially when they pass Dean Purvis in the hallway.

He gives them both a nod and a curious glance but nothing more.

“I feel like we’re playing hooky,” she says softly to Harrison, readjusting the heavy box in her arms as they exit the building.

“I bet you’ve never missed a class in your life.” He grunts, stopping to hold the door for her with his left foot.

“Absolutely not. Skipping out on a class I’m actually teaching is a new experience for me.”

His lips quirk into a minuscule smile as he says, “Me, too.”

He props his box on one hip while scrounging in his pocket for the car keys. He manages to set off the alarm before successfully opening the trunk. She can’t help laughing slightly at him. He’s so rarely flustered, and she can’t help enjoying the sudden flush to his cheeks now.

She taps the back pocket of her pants and excuses herself back to the office to retrieve her phone. Caitlin vaults the stairs two at a time, filled with coffee-fueled energy, and collides with Dean Purvis as she rounds the corner.

She apologizes profusely, but he puts one hand on each of her shoulders as if to steady her from falling.

“No need, Caitlin,” he says, giving her an over-indulgent smile. “And you can call me Michael, you know.”

She gives him a polite but noncommittal laugh before attempting to step around him.

“Can I escort you somewhere?” He moves to link arms with her, but she evades him with one long stride.

“No, thank you. I’m just running to my office to grab something.” She thinks this is the end of their conversation, but he follows after her when she walks away.

“How are you settling into the office with ‘heartless Harrison?’”

Caitlin turns and fixes him with a hard stare. “Excuse me, but what did you call him?” She keeps her tone as level as possible, but she’s instantly fuming.

Purvis raises his hands and shrugs. “It’s just a little nickname we have for our beloved professor Wells. No harm is meant by it.”

“I see. I really should be going. It was nice talking with you,” she says, turning on her heel and continuing her rapid pace down the hall.

“I’m only teasing, Caitlin,” he is beside her again. “It’s all in good fun. You have to admit he’s a bit of a cold fish, though,” he says, chuckling to himself.

Caitlin has to bite back a sharp retort and says nothing.

“I do hope you both are getting along. I’ve been worried about you.”

She turns to him once they reach the door to her office, and she offers him a lifeless, “Thank you,” before turning the key.

Again, despite the finality of her tone, she turns to find him following her into the office and closing the door behind him. His insistence on the subject of Harrison is making her uncomfortable. She grabs her phone and opens her mouth to tell him she needs to leave, but she turns to find him standing far too close.

“I know you’re both skipping classes today.” His tone and expression no longer possess the ever-present cheerful friendliness.

Caitlin wants to step back, but she finds herself pressed up against her desk. She’s trapped, and his face has contorted into a threatening, unfamiliar visage.

“There’s a policy we have here at Jonesborough that requires teachers to notify their deans before taking an unexpected day off.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know. It was—”

“But there is one way we can smooth this over,” he lifts a hand and grabs a lock of her hair, rubbing it gently between forefinger and thumb.

She swats his hand away and again tries to move, but he’s leaning forward with his hands on top of the desk. She’s pinned and frozen in a sudden grip of fear and confusion.

“You can’t possibly mean—”

His eyes are burning intensely behind the thick lenses of his glasses. A sheen of sweat crowns his balding hairline, and she’s incapable of rational thought as he leans somehow closer.

Suddenly, her hand moves as of its own volition, gripping an object just behind her left hip. She takes hold of this and raises it to crash into this side of his face—the very same instant the office door opens.

\--

Harrison absorbs the scene in front of him, and in milliseconds he has launched himself forward to grip the front of the dean’s shirt in both hands.

The dean cries out, cradling his right cheek, which is already sporting a small gash. Harrison’s fist is raised, but two resolute hands draw his arm back.

“Let him go,” Caitlin says, her voice husky and ragged.

He meets her frightened gaze and relents—but not before giving the dean one last shove. Harrison pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and throws it in Purvis’s face.

“Clean yourself up and get out.”

Purvis dabs at the wound with the white cloth, his appearance one of icy indignation. “Saying anything about this will get you nowhere,” he says.

He storms from the room, leaving Harrison to gaze after him with a murderous expression. He suddenly remembers the central figure in all of this and turns to find Caitlin standing in the middle of the room with her back to him.

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” He steps forward, uncertain if she wants to be touched in this moment.

She is still as a statue. He has no idea what she needs from him in this moment, and he is still seething with too much anger to be a gentle comforter, should she require one.

He takes several deep breaths, which go a small way towards calming his racing heart. Wells is at war with himself. He wants to take her in his arms and hold her close, and he also has a strong desire to find Pervy Purvis and punch him in his weasel face.

He searches for a quick distraction and finds one when his eyes discover the discarded paperclip holder on the floor. He bends down and busies himself by returning the scattered clips to the square, plastic container. Once he has returned everything to its rightful place, he approaches her again.

Harrison clears his throat. “That was quick thinking on your part, grabbing what you could find for defense.”

Caitlin turns, and her face is as white as a sheet. Without a word, she sinks into a nearby chair. Her expression is alarmingly blank, and he realizes she must be in shock.

He makes a hasty decision and gathers her things before escorting her out the door. She leans heavily on his arm, and he has to guide her down the stairs and out the door to his car. Caitlin is almost lifeless beside him as he races through the small city streets to his home. It’s the only place he can think to take her, having no idea where she lives.

Once inside, he hastily fixes a cup of herbal tea and brings it to her. She stares off in the distance for a moment, and one touch of his hand on hers seems to bring her back to reality. She grips his fingers and gasps suddenly.

“Where am I? How did I get here?”

“You’re fine—you’re here with me at my home.”

She stares around her with wide eyes, and she only seems to breathe a sigh of relief when her gaze falls on Harrison.

“Thank you,” she says, releasing his hand and accepting the steaming mug of tea.

He readjusts his position on the small loveseat, still wishing to give her whatever space she needs.

“Do you need to…talk about what happened?”

Caitlin’s eyes fill with tears, and he can feel his insides squirming already. He really is not equipped for this. Maybe he should have called her friend Rose or Tulip or whatever her name was. But part of him is glad she’s here, sitting beside him.

“I’m such an idiot,” she says. When he tries to demur, she continues. “No, I should have seen the signs. He’s always shown me partiality, and I’ve ignored it until today. I let my guard down. I wasn’t fast enough, and I—”

“Stop,” he says, putting a hand gently on her arm. “This was _not your fault_.” He emphasizes each word. “I can guarantee that man has more lawsuits following after him than we know. I’m just sorry I wasn’t there sooner.” A twinge of guilt grips at the pit of his stomach, and he draws away from her.

“You were there, and that is more than I can ever ask for.” She leans over and presses her shoulder against his.

Suddenly, her arm is shaking against his. He looks over, expecting to see tears in her eyes, but instead—she’s laughing.

“You threw your handkerchief at him.” She lets her head fall back against the couch cushions and lets out a stream of shaky laughter. “Who carries handkerchiefs anymore?” She continues in this fashion until tears stream down her cheeks, and it’s hard to decipher if she’s laughing or crying.

With the shock, he can only imagine it’s a confusing mixture of both. He takes the tea from her hands and decides he will have to step into a highly unfamiliar role of comforter. Harrison leans over and draws her into his arms. Her arms snake around his torso, and she pulls herself even closer to him, allowing herself to cry into his sweater.

They sit like this for a while until her breathing slows to a steady rhythm. He gives into one of his most dangerous impulses and draws her hair back from her face. She’s actually fallen asleep in his arms. His heart performs an odd little dance in his chest, and he has to chastise himself silently until he can think a clear, rational thought. He should let her rest. That is the practical choice to make.

Harrison extricates himself from her loose grasp, and he gently places her head against the arm of the loveseat. The blanket he finds is a tad threadbare, but it will have to suffice for now. He sets her legs up on the cushions and rests the tattered throw over her. He allows himself one final impulse—gently pushing the bangs from her eyes—before setting to work in the kitchen.

\--

Caitlin breathes in an unfamiliar smell. It’s not unpleasant, but there are several mixtures that don’t add up in her mind. She doesn’t remember her place smelling so musty or—is that garlic?

She sits up, her head reeling and stuffy from crying, and she instantly remembers where she is. She hears sounds of dishes clicking together in a nearby room, and she takes in her surroundings with renewed interest. The arrangement of the clutter is oddly familiar. Harrison must have a specific way of “organizing” his possessions. His attachment to old journals and books is approaching hoarder levels, and she can’t help but wonder what the rest of the house looks like.

Harrison enters the room holding two steaming plates. “Oh, you’re awake,” he says, and she can tell he can’t decide whether or not to smile.

She tries her best to set his mind at ease, but she can only manage a half-hearted lift at the corner of her mouth.

“That smells amazing,” she says, realizing now how hungry she must be.

“Chicken Alfredo.” He sets it down in front of her on a low coffee table (after pushing several stacks of paper to the floor).

She takes it and eats it with gusto. He sits in a nearby recliner, and she pauses, watching him with renewed interest.

“What’s with all the stuff?”

He glances up with a furrowed brow.

She continues, pointing at the clutter around them. “All this. Why do you keep everything?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “I guess I have trouble throwing things away.”

She nods and returns to her food. He surprises her by speaking again.

“And I guess it’s hard for me to settle completely in one place. I'm so used to moving every few years that I never learned how to make a place ‘home.’”

Caitlin meets his direct gaze. “I can help with that—if you’d let me.”

“You don't have to.”

“I’m not just saying that. I really want to,” she says, making sure he understands her intent.

Harrison’s face is unreadable, but he just nods.

Caitlin’s phone chimes. It’s a message from Iris.

“You’re not still planning on meeting your friends for coffee, are you?”

She considers this for a moment. “I think I need the distraction.” Caitlin glances back at him. “But only if you’ll come with me. I feel—safe around you.” She hesitates with the last phrase, realizing she has already asked so much of him today.

He nods his head matter-of-factly. “Of course.”

They finish the meal in relative silence before she finds her way to the hall bathroom. With a shock, she realizes her mascara and eyeliner have run down her face in all the chaos of earlier. She also noticed Harrison had changed his shirt—she’d likely stained it with her crying. Her face burns with embarrassment. She cleans herself up, considers herself presentable, and returns to the living room.

“Shall we go?” He’s standing in the front part of the house, having already cleared away the plates.

Caitlin nods and gives into a sudden notion. She steps forward and gives him a quick hug.

“Thank you,” she says into his shoulder. “For everything today.”

He’s hesitant at first, his muscles rigid with surprise, but he slowly relaxes into her hold. “Of course,” he says, and she adores the way his voice hums gently against her ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts on this one? It's the first time I've attempted any storyline where someone is almost assaulted. I hope I handled it with respect and treated her reactions as they might actually have been. But not to fear - there will be resolution with this storyline. I promise!


	9. Velocity - 4 of 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 4 of 5
> 
> Alternate universe where Harrison and Caitlin are professors at the same small-town college.

Caitlin meets Iris’s keen gaze across the coffee shop when she and Harrison enter. They join the group at a nearby table, and introductions are exchanged. She can see Iris is itching to talk to her, so she quickly gets Harrison’s order (insisting this trip is her treat) and she and Iris quickly separate from the group.

“Um, so what the heck??” Iris asks, taking Caitlin’s arm and squeezing it while they stand in line.

“It’s a long story…”

“Spill!”

Caitlin gives her the abridged version, leaving out the majority of the details, but Iris is smart enough to fill in the gaps.

“Oh, my God I would have killed that creep.”

Caitlin gives her friend a grateful half-hug.

“Are you okay?” Iris asks, her face full of concern.

“Not right now, but I will be.”

Caitlin’s friend hugs her again and insists on buying all three coffee orders. Caitlin is about to argue but decides to accept the gesture for once.

\--

Harrison maintains his calm as best he can—but Caitlin’s unexpected hug had threatened to throw him off balance. And now, he’s doing his best to maintain light conversation with her friends. Cisco is chattering animatedly beside him, and it takes him a moment to focus and recognize the topic of conversation. His eyes had been following Caitlin and Iris’s departure.

“Yes, but a virus interacts with its environment and responds like an organism,” Cisco says.

“Yeah, but they can’t replicate on their own,” Barry interjects, “which is an essential part of a living entity. They have to rely on other living organisms to do so, right?”

“Are you talking about the theory of life?” Harrison interrupts.

“Yeah, weigh in on this, Professor,” Cisco says. “Are viruses living or nonliving?”

“They _have_ to be classified as nonliving!” Barry maintains.

Cisco counters his statement again, and the conversation (or rather, argument) continues.

Harrison smiles, pleasantly surprised by Caitlin’s friends, and begins to interject his own thoughts on the matter. Caitlin and Iris return with coffee in hand, and the discussion moves to Caitlin who says that viruses “borrow” life rather than possess it themselves. He watches her as she continues, and he’s encouraged by her renewed enthusiasm. The color has returned to her cheeks, and he hopes this is a good sign.

“Hey,” someone tugs at his sleeve, and Harrison turns to find Iris beside him. “Can I pull you aside for a moment?” she asks.

He nods, glancing back at the table and realizing the trio won’t even notice their departure as they are all too engrossed in the subject.

He follows Iris around the corner, and they stand in front of a new collection of local art, pretending to examine this while they speak in a hushed tone.

“Caitlin told me what happened,” Iris says, and she is visibly shaking with anger. “What can we do about getting Purvis fired?”

Harrison sighs. “I’ve seen attempts like this made before with worse individuals, and it’s a long, hard road to make any headway in proving sexual misconduct of a dean.”

Iris frowns. “But surely there are other women who have experienced this. Caitlin’s cannot be an isolated incident.”

His brows raise, clearly impressed. “You’re probably right. Perhaps someone like yourself can flex their new journalistic muscles and see what she can find out.”

Iris smiles and fixes him with a curious gaze. “Yeah, but my dad’s also a detective, so that will probably give me a leg up.”

“I see,” he says. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

Her intense scrutiny is making him a tad uncomfortable, but he manages to give her a half-smile.

“These days,” Iris continues, “it seems like I’ll find you skipping class with my friend.”

He waits for her to chastise him, but her next statement takes him by surprise.

“It’s good for her. Keep it up.” She taps her cup against his and returns to the table, only to collide with Caitlin on her way over.

“Where did you two disappear to?”

“Just admiring some art,” Iris says, giving Harrison a discreet wink before leaving the pair alone.

Caitlin stands beside him, letting her shoulder brush against his, and stares up at the large canvas.

“I didn’t take you for an art lover,” she says, turning her head sideways to try and make sense of the crisscrossed black lines against the white background.

“Neither did I,” he turns his eyes to study Caitlin instead. “But I’m learning to appreciate many new things these days.”

\--

Another month and a half flies by, and suddenly Caitlin finds herself confronting the end of the semester. She adores the new routine they’ve established. After the…incident (she’s still not quite ready to confront the memories), Harrison offered for them to carpool to work. Her apartment is on the other side of town, so she decided it would be easier to park at his place and walk to the college together since he lives fairly close to the school.

She notices that Harrison has taken to keeping extra bags of coffee tucked away in their office—likely trying to avoid another near-meltdown on her part. He doesn’t talk about what happened with Purvis, but he has taken to subtly redirecting her if they are about to walk into the dean in the hallway.

His silent and unending support has been so incredibly valuable, and she wishes she could only return the favor somehow.

She decides to try something new the next morning, but it happens to be the same one that Harrison breaks their routine. He says he has to run a quick errand and will meet her there. No matter—she will just do this on her own.

She does her best not to let her anxieties overtake her when she has to enter the building alone. It’s early, and there are very few individuals in their office building. Every corner she turns, she fears she’ll see Purvis. But thankfully, she makes it to their office uninterrupted. She breathes a sigh of relief and closes the door. Caitlin hesitates and then dials Iris.

“Everything okay?” Iris’s voice comes over the speaker, a bit groggy with sleep.

“Sorry if I woke you,” she says. “I’m at the office alone, and—”

“Are you alright? Do you need me to come over?”

“No, no, that’s fine. I just need someone to talk to if you don’t mind. I guess I’m not as ready to be by myself here as I thought.”

“Of course,” Iris says with her characteristic understanding. “Just keep me on speaker, and don’t be upset if I fall asleep.”

Caitlin laughs and goes about her plan, maintaining some light chatter while unpacking a large, plastic tub.

“What is all that crinkling paper?” Iris says around a yawn. “Wait, what day is it? Holy crap, Caitlin! Are you decorating for Christmas already?!”

“It’s November 1st. I’m allowed this one concession!” Caitlin insists.

Iris’s laughter over the phone is interrupted by the opening of the office door. Caitlin whips around, but she is instantly relieved to see Harrison’s face greeting her with a small, warm smile.

“Is that Dr. Wells?” Iris says over the phone.

“Good morning, Iris,” he says, approaching Caitlin’s desk.

“I’ll leave you in his capable hands, Cait.” Iris disconnects.

“That was bizarre,” she says, finding Harrison staring around their office with raised brows.

“It looks like the inside of a year-round Christmas store exploded in here.”

“Please tell me you don’t have anything against Christmas. If you do, we’re going to have problems.”

He gives her a smirk. “I only hesitate to support this since it is November 1st.”

“It’s a Snow family tradition!” She maintains, putting the finishing touches on a sparkly garland draped over the curtain rod.

She turns from her position atop her desk chair and finds him standing below her with his hands behind his back.

“If you fall, I won’t be able to catch you. My hands are full.” He pulls an accordion folder from behind his back, and she jumps down to take it from his outstretched hands.

“Unfortunately, it’s not an early Christmas gift. Or perhaps it is,” he says cryptically. “You’ll need to open it.”

She eyes him suspiciously and opens the folder and pulls out the papers in the first tab labeled “Incident 6/5/18.”

Her eyes devour the contents of the page, and then she turns back to him with wide eyes. “Are these_ all_ prior sexual harassment complaints with Purvis? There’s at least eight of them.”

He nods his head, his expression sober. “Iris and I have been working alongside her father to pull up enough evidence from those willing to speak out about their experiences. We’re hoping this will help make a case against him.”

Her eyes are suddenly filled with tears.

He puts a hand on her shoulder. “The last piece we need is your statement. We’ve already notified legal services, and they’re willing to meet with you when you have a free moment.”

She returns the papers and closes the clasp on the front, handing the folder back to him. There’s a weary expression on his features, and she thinks she can almost see disappointment there as well.

Caitlin takes a deep breath and says, “I’ll meet with them now.”

\--

Harrison tucks the folder under his arm and escorts them through the hallways of the student center. He knows the route well after having visited this place many times over the last month. His heart hammers in his chest when they round the final corner. He can only imagine what Caitlin must be going through. He hazards a glance in her direction, and she is pale and withdrawn. They pause outside the door of legal services.

“Hey,” he says, trying to draw her back from the deep reverie she’s fallen into.

When she meets his gaze, he can see the pleading in her expression.

“I’ll be right here the entire time.” He points to a bench against the wall. “They already have copies of everything, so they just need your statement about what happened.”

Caitlin nods her head slowly and then steps forward to hug him. He should be used to these embraces by now, but they always take him by surprise. It’s been a long time since anyone has held him so tightly or looked at him the way she is staring up at him now.

He would wish to do nothing more than stay standing this way for a bit longer, but he catches a glimpse of his watch and has to step back to force himself to release her.

“Ready?” He asks her.

She nods and turns to knock on the door. There’s a brief pause and then she is admitted to the room.

Harrison waits anxiously as the minutes pass. He types out a quick text to Iris, who sends a response back with too many exclamation points to number. He stands and begins pacing, too anxious to sit still.

This has to be hell for her. He’s so angry at the whole situation that he just wants to—

The door opens, and Caitlin exits, looking exhausted, but still rosier and livelier than she has in weeks. He wants to ask her so many questions, but he knows she probably needs space to breathe. They make their way back to the office in silence.

As soon as the door closes behind them, he finally ventures to ask, “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she says. “Better.”

He places the folder on his desk and makes an executive decision. Without a word, he rummages in the plastic tub and pulls out a box of miniature nutcrackers.

“Shall we finish decorating?”

Caitlin smiles, and the sunshine has returned at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Harrison learns how to be friends with other human beings. We can tell he's new to the whole enterprise. More to come!


	10. Imaginary Number - 5 of 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 5 of 5 - COMPLETE
> 
> Alternate universe where Harrison and Caitlin are professors at the same small-town college.
> 
> This is the final chapter - my gift to you in this troubled time. Enjoy!

“Is it possible that you bought _more_ decorations this year?” Barry says, tucking a loose strand of greenery over the back of the blackboard.

Caitlin ducks her head and gives them a sheepish smile.

“Ah-_ha!_” Iris points to Caitlin’s downturned face. “That’s Caitlin Snow guilt right there.”

“I couldn’t help it! Gabriel’s was having a sale, and Harrison actually brought some stuff from home, and—”

“Hold up,” Cisco says, swiveling to face them in Caitlin’s chair. “You’re telling me Dr. Wells voluntarily put up Christmas decorations?”

“Yes, well—sort of. He brought them and I put them up.” She pauses. “He supervised!” She adds defensively.

Cisco rolls his eyes. “Let’s hope we can at least help the guy loosen up a little tonight.”

“I think he’s coming!” Iris says in a hushed voice by the door. They all take their positions just before she switches off the light.

A key is heard in the door, and a tall figure is silhouetted in the light from the hallway fluorescents. He takes one step into the room, and then—

“SURPRISE!”

Iris flips the light, and everyone stands to their feet while a rain of papers falls down on their heads.

“Nice! Who rigged the papers?”

“Those are my tests,” Harrison says dryly. “You startled me.”

The group laughs and goes about gathering the papers before Caitlin turns to Harrison and enacts the next phase of the plan.

“You’re coming out with us tonight.”

“Why?” He says, glancing at her companions with a touch of uneasiness.

“Because it’s your birthday and we want to celebrate with you.”

He smiles, but she can tell he’s still uncertain. Regardless, she is determined to pull him out of his shell tonight and force him to have fun if it’s the last thing she does.

They pile into Barry’s station wagon, and Caitlin is crammed in the back seat between Harrison and Cisco. She purposefully leans a little heavier on Harrison’s side.

“You look nice tonight,” he says into her ear.

She turns and faces him, grateful that the other three are too busy arguing between the two breweries in town to notice.

“So do you,” she says.

They collectively decide on the Tennessee Hills Distillery, due to its old-timey charm and generally quieter atmosphere. Harrison insists on treating everyone to the first round of drinks, despite everyone’s protests, and once the food and the second round of drinks arrive, everyone (even Dr. Wells) seems to be having a good time.

She’s never seen him drink before, but it seems to loosen some of his rigid, straight-edged exterior. It’s not that she prefers this more easy-going and chatty Harrison, it’s just that she is enjoying seeing a new side of him.

Conversation takes many different paths, and the more inviting atmosphere allows different people to break off into varying subjects. The natural flow of their discussions is interrupted when Iris stands up and slams her glass on top of the table.

“Oops, sorry—that was harder than I planned,” she says. “But I have an announcement!”

All eyes at the table turn towards her, and she waits just long enough to build suspense before saying, “The case was reviewed, and Purvis is being let go at the end of this semester.”

Applause erupts around the table. Cisco declares it is time for more drinks, and Barry decides that more chips and dip are in order. Caitlin hugs Iris and steals Cisco’s vacated seat beside Harrison.

“Well done,” he says, and he seems to hesitate before putting his hand over hers.

She squeezes his fingers and smiles warmly at him. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Alright, break it up!” Cisco says, pushing between the two of them to set the tray of drinks down. “Hey, Harrison—you’re alright,” he says, leaning his arm on the older man’s shoulder.

“You, too, Cisco,” Harrison says with an indulgent smile.

The rest of the night passes fairly quickly. Caitlin does her best not to over-indulge on the drinks. She has something to say to Dr. Wells later, and she wants a clear head for it. Cisco and Iris, however, are almost completely plastered.

“Time to get these two home.” Barry says, putting an arm around his friend and his girlfriend.

“My brrrrrave designator driver!” Iris says, lifting her glass to take one last swig of beer.

“Hey! Harrison!” Cisco says, pointing at Dr. Wells. “Happy birthday, man. Welcome to the group!”

Barry reiterates the statement, with a little less slurring, and navigates the two stumbling individuals out the door.

“Should we help them?” Harrison asks, watching as Barry struggles to keep the door open while Iris and Cisco laugh over some inside joke.

“You kidding?” Caitlin says. “This is the best part of the night. Dinner and a show.”

He laughs, and the pair of them watches the trio make it safely (if a bit precariously) to the car. Barry waves at them from the street before driving off into the night.

Caitlin turns to him and leans closer. “Will you walk me to my car, Dr. Wells?”

His noticeable shock tells her she might be a tad tipsy, and she is about to apologize when he stops her.

“I’d love to,” he says.

He closes out his tab, and soon they are out the door and enjoying the cool, if somewhat chilly, night air. The walk to his home is only a few blocks, but by the time they reach his front stoop, he has offered her his coat and has his arm wrapped around her waist.

“Hey, can we sit a moment?”

“You’re very forward when you drink,” he says with a chuckle.

She rolls her eyes. “I'm not inviting myself in. I mean sit outside on your porch swing.”

He nods, and—did she see a flash of disappointment there? Her stomach does a little flip, but that could be a side effect of the three beers she had.

He excuses himself and disappears for a moment, only to return with a few throw blankets. She accepts these gratefully and curls up beside him on the swing.

“I got you something,” Caitlin says, sifting through her purse for the small package.

Harrison gives her an admonitory look, but she ignores this and passes the thin box into his hand. With a sigh, he opens it, unwrapping the tissue paper to reveal a small ceramic disc.

“It’s a Christmas ornament,” she says. “I had it custom painted.”

He pulls out his phone and turns on the flashlight to reveal the delicate lines of print on its surface.

\--

Harrison stares down at the hand-painted symbols, flanked on the top and bottom with shades of red and green.

“Schrodinger’s equation.” He says, keeping his eyes trained on the gift.

A sudden lump forms in his throat, and the thought of crying in front of her mortifies him to such a degree that he can’t bear to look at her in this moment.

There’s a pause, and she clears her throat tucking a strand of hair behind one ear—a clear sign of discomfort or anxiety.

“It’s…well, it’s nothing, really,” She says, almost apologetically. “Just made me think of my first day here.”

Harrison is truly lost for words. He allows his gaze to travel to her face, which is caressed by the shadows from a nearby streetlamp. She’s staring straight ahead, and he worries that his response has insulted her.

“I have a confession to make,” he says, and she slowly turns to face him with a questioning look. “I don’t have a Christmas tree.”

Her eyes widen in disbelief. “You’re kidding! We have to fix this at once.” She stands to her feet, letting the throw blanket fall to the porch floor.

“Caitlin,” he says, laughing and now standing beside her.

“No, I’m not letting you go another night without twinkle lights and ornaments and—”

“Caitlin,” he says again, standing in front of her before she takes another step.

She stares up at him, and he is desperately trying not to launch himself forward and take her in his arms—but he won’t make a move unless she expressly indicates she’s comfortable. The last thing he wants to do is push himself on someone who has already been through an ordeal.

As if anticipating his thoughts, she leans forward and presses her lips to his.

_Well, clearly she has no issues with that._

Harrison wraps her in his arms and kisses her—tentatively at first, and then with renewed confidence when she responds in kind. They stand this way for several moments until she shivers. Though she had clearly been enjoying the activity, he can feel the chill seeping into her extremities.

He guides them back to the swing and wraps one blanket around her shoulders and the other across both their laps. They sit in comfortable silence for a time.

“Did you like your ornament?”

“I adore it,” he responds, letting his head rest on top of hers. “And I am warming up to the idea of a Christmas tree, even if it’s not yet Thanksgiving.”

“First we have to de-clutter your home,” she says, taking hold of his hand.

He chuckles.

“Be honest,” she says, turning to face him. “The day I moved into your office. What did you think?”

He pushes the hair from her face. “That I was in real danger of losing myself in those big brown eyes of yours.”

She nudges his shoulder. “You’re teasing me.”

He runs a hand into her hair at the nape of her neck and draws her closer. “I never tease. I’m far too serious.”

She laughs against his lips as he kisses her again. He can’t seem to get enough of holding her in his arms and mingling their lips together. From her ardent response, it’s clear she must feel the same way. Her hands have snaked into his hair and, at one point, removed the glasses from his face.

At some point he knows she will have to go home, but for now he will kiss her and think of decorating his home, with her beside him.

At last, his equation is complete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that is that! Thoughts? Concerns? Questions? I'll take them all <3 <3


End file.
